


Competitive Indoor Cornhole (or, What to Do When Hockey is Cancelled)

by RabbitRunnah



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Jack makes everything a competition, M/M, Sheltering In Place, This is ridiculous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24255400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RabbitRunnah/pseuds/RabbitRunnah
Summary: Bitty bakes to deal with the shelter-in-place order. Jack finds a new hobby. Based on theShitty Check PleaseAU  prompt "without hockey, Jack starts playing competitive cornhole."
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 15
Kudos: 165





	Competitive Indoor Cornhole (or, What to Do When Hockey is Cancelled)

“Bits. Bits, it’s here!” Jack says excitedly, with a level of enthusiasm Bitty rarely hears from him outside of hockey or their bed. 

Bitty drops a spoonful of cookie dough on his cookie sheet and narrows his eyes. “What’s here?” he asks, imagining some sort of device that’s going to turn their kitchen into a makeshift training facility.

He’s not far off.

He’s not curious enough to follow Jack down to the apartment’s office to pick up the package — there are cookies to put in the oven! — but he does watch Jack tear into it. He’s a bit taken aback to discover it’s a cornhole game.

“Cornhole?” he asks, less than impressed. It’s been a staple at every Bittle family barbecue for as long as he can remember. 

“It’s fun,” Jack insists. “We played it the last time we visited the guys, remember?”

Bitty does, in fact, remember the way Jack, Holster, and Lardo got locked into an hour-long battle for the title of ‘King Cornhole’ late last summer, at the last barbecue the residents of Haus 2.0 (minus their weird roommate, who never seems to be around) hosted before the weather turned. It ended with Holster upending a bottle of beer over the pile of bags while Jack celebrated his victory with the celly he usually reserves for on-ice victories. It had taken Shitty, Ransom, and Lardo to pull them off of each other. Bitty would have helped, but he was too busy live tweeting the whole thing. 

“I remember,” Bitty says cautiously. Jack tosses him a red bean bag. It takes him a second to realize it has the Samwell crest on it. The blue bean bags are adorned with the Falconers logo. “Did you have these custom made?” he asks. He can’t decide if it’s adorable or terrifying.

“Let’s play!” Jack insists.

By the end of the week, Bitty decides it’s terrifying. He loves Jack, lord he does, but he loves him more when their home isn’t a battle zone. Jack has moved the white board they normally use for their grocery list from the inside of the pantry door to a wall in the living room. Bitty can just make out the ghosts of “unsalted butter” and “chicken breasts” under Jack’s very precise scoreboard that shows the standings for “Zimmermann” and “Bittle.” There are separate tallies for shots taken, shots made, and games won. Jack has won most of them. Bitty’s no slouch, but while he spends most afternoons revising recipes for his book and baking test batches, Jack spends them perfecting his trick shots. Bitty can hear him narrating the play by plays. He goes to sleep and wakes up to the sound of bean bags bouncing off the floor and walls. He’s delivered at least three batches of cookies to their downstairs neighbors as apologies for the noise.

“Wanna play?” Jack asks, raising an eyebrow. Bitty narrows his eyes. They just finished dinner, he kind of wants to relax and watch TikTok videos, maybe cuddle on the couch.

Jack doesn’t wait for a response, just begins separating the colored bean bags into piles. “You’re up, Bittle.”

“Aw, sweetpea, not tonight. Come sit with me?” Bitty pats the couch. “There’s some pie on the counter.”

“Later,” Jack insists. He doesn’t wait for Bitty, just plays both sides. “Did you see that?” he asks when he lands a shot from the other side of the living room. “Eyes closed!”

Bitty looks up from his phone. “Great job, babe,” he cheers, deadpan.

Jack pauses in the middle of his celly, turns toward Bitty and tosses a bean bag at him. Bitty lets it bounce off his chest. Jack smirks. “That’s not the way you congratulated me when we won the Cup.”

“Oh, this again? Lord.” Bitty rolls his eyes but gamely gets up and crosses the room until they’re standing chest to chest. Jack’s heart is beating wildly. Bitty tilts his head upward and smiles. “Kiss me, Mister Zimmermann.”

As their lips meet, Bitty hears the bags cupped in Jack’s hand hit the floor. Bitty makes a mental tally mark in the “Bittle” column. Jack may have scored, but Bitty’s pretty sure he won this round.


End file.
